


Fermata

by toomuchplor



Series: Tactus Verse [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-15
Updated: 2009-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Tactus universe, but really all you need to know is that John and Rodney are music profs together. A little tiny outtake from a moment in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fermata

John's first thought on opening the front door is that there's been a break-in; white paper is fanned out at ugly angles all over the floor at the base of the staircase leading upstairs, a startling focal point of disorder in their usually neat home.

But as John stares, heart beginning to pulse faster, another cascade of paper slides down into view from the top of the stairs. "Rodney!" John hollers, coming close enough now to see the front page of the newest arrival: _Recent Directions in Vocal Pedagogy: A Survey_ it reads, bearing underneath the name and student ID of one of Rodney's hapless Music 315 students. John glares up the flight of stairs and spies Rodney standing at the top with another stack of papers. "You do realize that it's only a joke," says John darkly, "no one _actually_ grades papers this way."

"Well, they should," says Rodney, and lets the last stack fly. Two more papers skid to a stop at John's feet. "Hmm, though I think that too many of them are skewing to 'A's. Can't have that."

John stoops down and shuffles the nearest essays together, ignoring Rodney's protests that John is ruining Rodney's system. Several have bent corners from their precipitous journeys down the narrow staircase.

By the time John gets to the top of the stairs, Rodney has given up his complaining and is sitting, bored, on the uppermost step. John hands him the collected stack of papers.

"Do your job," says John, but he can't quite keep from smiling.

"I hate this part of my job," says Rodney, petulant.

John sits down beside him, cozy and close on the step. "Did you stick a fiber optic camera up Simpson's nose in class one day?"

"It's a transnasal laryngoscope, and it's a valuable teaching tool," returns Rodney, rolling his eyes. "How else are they supposed to learn about the mechanisms of phonation and vibrato?"

"You stuck a camera up Simpson's nose," John repeats, and grins.

Rodney smiles too, a little reluctantly. "I did."

John leans over, splays his hand on the abused stack of essays, and brushes his lips over Rodney's temple. "Two more weeks and term is over," John says.

"Mmm," says Rodney appreciatively. He turns his head, catches John's mouth, presses a few lingering kisses there. When John tries to pull back to talk, Rodney's hand comes up and threads its fingers through John's hair, holding him in place. John stills, subsides, lets Rodney have this moment of peace in this odd perch in their old creaky house, on this quiet April evening.


End file.
